


could you share a little piece of your sunlight (or carry me off in the cold night)

by thefigureinthecorner



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast), The College Tapes (Podcast)
Genre: Finale spoilers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, TCT Spoilers, The College Tapes Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefigureinthecorner/pseuds/thefigureinthecorner
Summary: Maybe it’s the sedative wearing off, or maybe it’s the adrenaline leaving his body now that he’s finally safe and secure in Mark’s car, or maybe it’s just the sudden pressure of the car seat on his neck and head and back. Whatever the case, pain lances up Oliver’s spine and he winces, gasping.Or: Mark helps patch Oliver back up, after everything.
Relationships: Mark Bryant/Oliver Ritz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	could you share a little piece of your sunlight (or carry me off in the cold night)

**Author's Note:**

> title from sunlight by radical face
> 
> check the end notes for cws

Maybe it’s the sedative wearing off, or maybe it’s the adrenaline leaving his body now that he’s finally safe and secure in Mark’s car, or maybe it’s just the sudden pressure of the car seat on his neck and head and back. Whatever the case, pain lances up Oliver’s spine and he winces, gasping.  _ “Shit.” _

“Oliver? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m— well, not fine, I guess, my back and neck hurt pretty fucking bad, but—“

Mark lets his seatbelt slide back into its holder, having paused partway through buckling it, and reaches across the center console to gently push Oliver away from his seat. “Here, let me take a look at that.”

Mark’s fingers are gentle as he parts Oliver’s hair to check for head wounds, pulls back the collars of Oliver’s shirt and coat to check the top of his neck. He sucks in a breath, and Oliver can hear the grimace on his face even without seeing it.

“What? What is it?”

“Yeah, I think waffles are gonna have to wait.  _ That’s _ probably why there was blood on the stairs when I found your phone.” He mutters that last part to himself more than saying it out loud, and Oliver furrows his brow.

“Jeez— okay, you gonna elaborate on that, or am I supposed to just assume I’m about to die or something?”

“I think when they sedated you, you must have fallen back and hit your head and neck on the stairs and it like, split the skin there maybe? I dunno, I’m not a doctor—“

“No, and we’re not gonna go to any  _ actual _ doctors, thank you  _ very _ much—“

“Did I say we were going to? I’m pretty sure the only place you can safely go given your ability is the AM and I’m not gonna do that to you if we don’t absolutely have to, don’t worry.” Mark sighs, falling back into his seat. “I’ll do my best to patch you up at the hotel and we’ll just hope to god you didn’t crack your skull or something.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.”

Mark buckles in, Oliver does the same with a bit of added wince in the movement, and Mark pulls out of the parking lot slowly. For once, Oliver’s glad for Mark’s overly-cautious driving— the lazy pace and lack of sharp turns means his back gets jostled less and the drive isn’t nearly as torturous as it could have been.

They get back to the hotel and park on the side, entering through one of the key-carded hallway doors rather than the lobby for fear of Oliver’s disheveled state and the slight singe on Mark’s shirt from Alexis’ fire attracting unwanted attention. Oliver immediately moves to the bed and sits down, letting himself sag into the soft mattress. He doesn’t lie down, for fear of getting blood on the pristine white sheets and potentially getting questioned for it by hotel staff, but  _ god  _ he wants to sink down into the blankets and sleep forever.

“Mkay, I’m gonna run back out and see if I can find a pharmacy or something. I’m sure the hotel has some first aid kits but I’m really not in the mood for them to ask questions when I ask for more than just a bandaid.”

“Yeah, alright.” He wants to ask why Mark didn’t get anything while they were still out, but for the first time in a while he just feels too goddamn tired to be snarky or witty right now and so he says nothing and lets Mark leave.

_ The panic of feeling the hand on his neck, the muffled scream, the prick of the syringe, the feeble last-ditch attempts to transmute the sedative into something less potent as he loses consciousness— _

He must zone out a bit, because he doesn’t notice Mark reentering the hotel room until a nudge against his arm startles him and he jumps a bit, breath catching.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, I just— I got the first aid stuff.” Mark holds up the CVS bag and the plastic rustles as he begins taking things out. “some antiseptic spray, gauze, washcloths cause I don’t feel like ruining the hotel’s, butterfly stitches just in case cause honestly the one on your back looked  _ bad,  _ some liquid bandage for the one on your head because I’d imagine that’s probably better than just leaving it open or using a band-aid in your hair— anyway, I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off for me to get to the one on your neck.”

Oliver wiggles his eyebrows at Mark and waits for the fond eye roll before complying, mostly just wanting to get this over with so he can  _ sleep. _

If Mark notices the scars littering Oliver’s torso, he doesn’t say anything; Oliver’s willing to bet he’s got some of his own from his time at the AM and Oliver’s grateful that at least now, Mark’s decided not to reopen any old wounds.

…So to speak.

Mark runs to the bathroom to grab a glass of warm water before he climbs onto the bed behind him and Oliver finds himself leaning into Mark a bit as he crosses his legs, pressing into Oliver’s back as he works so he can reach the wounds without having to stretch. The contact, the warmth seeping through Mark’s jeans, the gentle touch, it’s grounding and some incredibly self-indulgent part of him wants to let himself fall back and lean his head against Mark’s shoulder and be held and comforted like he had when Mark was practically holding him upright on their way out of the library basement.

He doesn’t do that. He just lets Mark prod his head and neck with feather-light touches as he gently cleans his wounds with the warm washcloth.

“Okay, so these don’t look  _ great,  _ but I think we can probably get away with the butterfly stitches and some gauze and hope that’s enough. I’m gonna use the antiseptic now, this is probably gonna sting—“

Mark sprays it on both wounds in quick succession, probably not wanting to draw out the process any more than necessary. It still  _ fucking stings _ and Oliver can’t help the almost-whimper that chokes its was out of him at the sudden spike of pain.  _ “Fuck.” _

“I know, I’m sorry, that’s over with now. We can move on to actually bandaging you up now.”

It doesn’t actually take all that long to get the bandages on— the liquid bandage takes no time at all and after the sting of the antiseptic, the dull ache of Mark pressing against the wound on his back to pull it shut with the butterfly stitches feels like nothing.

“Okay, that should be it. Blackwell didn’t get you with the knife at all, did he?”

Oliver shakes his head. “No, you ran in before he could actually do anything. Thankfully.” He pauses. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

“Do what?”

“Run in to save me. He could’ve hurt you, y’know.”

“Yeah, but if I  _ didn’t _ do anything he was  _ definitely _ going to hurt you. I guess I just… panicked and reacted.”

“You seem to be good at that.”

“Hey! Okay, but yeah, you’re right.” Mark sighs. “I honestly don’t know. I just… I couldn’t let him hurt you, you’re… too important to me.”

Oliver feels his heart stop for a moment. “What?”

“Uh. Nothing. Never mind.” Mark clears his throat. “You should get some sleep, you went through a lot last night.”

“...Right.”

Oliver is almost tempted to just sleep without changing, but he’s already halfway out of his day clothes anyway and he wants to get into some more comfortable clothes that don’t feel grimy and disgusting from running around Yale’s campus and trekking through damp underground tunnels. He changes, he crawls into bed, and he falls asleep within minutes.

_ He wakes up in an operating theater. _

_ “What are you…” _

_ “Well, Mr. Ritz, my scientists have told me you’ve been very difficult with them lately. Transmuting sedatives, fighting back… I needed to make sure you wouldn’t be trying that again anytime soon.” Wadsworth’s eyes crinkle in what Oliver knows is an overly-saccharine smile behind her mask as she gestures with a scrubbed-up hand for the doctors to continue. _

_ “No— no no no, please don’t— please stop, please—“ _

_ “This is just what you asked for, Mr. Ritz. You want to be awake for our procedures so badly? Go ahead.” _

_ The scalpel begins to cut into his chest and he  _ screams.

_ The room warps. Her face shifts. _

_ He looks into the sharp blue eyes of Professor Seamus Blackwell. _

_ “Well then, we might as well open you up now.” _

_ “Huh?” He begins to struggle weakly. _

_ “Just a little vein. You must be open to accept the power of your forefathers.” _

_ The  _ thwip  _ of a switchblade opening; the voice distorting through his still half-sedated mind; the tip of the knife beginning to dig into his wrist— _

_ “Oliver!” _

_ “Mark—“ _

_ The knife slides across his throat and he chokes on pain and blood as Mark screaming his name echoes on the basement walls, over and over and over again— Oliver, Oliver, Oliver— _

“Oliver!”

Oliver gasps awake, breath rasping. He scrambles to get away from the hand on his arm, wincing at the pull of the wound on his back but needing to  _ get away, get away, get away— _

“Oliver? Oliver. It’s okay. Look at me. It’s just me. It’s just me. You’re okay now. Breathe.”

Oliver tries to focus on the face in front of him, his nightmare still tugging at the edges of his mind and clouding everything around him.

Mark.

He gives into that self-indulgent part of himself from earlier and collapses into Mark’s shoulder, shaking and crying.

“Hey hey hey hey hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Mark runs a hand up and down his back, careful to avoid putting pressure on his injury. “I’m here.”

Oliver stays there for a while, letting Mark murmur comforting words in his ear and trying to match his breathing to the steady rise and fall of Mark’s chest, listening to the steady tha-thump of Mark’s heart, clutching back at Mark’s shirt and feeling the texture of the fabric, soft and warm and  _ real. _

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mark asks when Oliver’s finally calmed down enough to breathe without stuttering.

Oliver starts to shake his head before reconsidering. “Just— the AM. And Seamus.” A pause. “I’m… assuming you overheard me talking about transmuting the sedative earlier.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Yeah, well, I did that at the AM one time and it, uh, went very badly for me. I guess last night must’ve just pulled those memories back up out of hiding.” He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You can never really leave Tier 5. Isn’t that what you said?”

Mark pulls him closer. “I’m sorry you had to go through that again.”

Oliver shrugs. “Not like it’s your fault.”

“No, but I’m still sorry.”

Oliver hums. “What did you mean, earlier?”

“...What?”

“When you said I was too important to you. What did you mean?”

“Oh, y’know, I was just—“ Mark tenses, stumbling a bit before he sighs and slumps back again. “Ah, goddammit, I meant I love you.”

For the second time since they got back to the hotel, Oliver feels his heart stop for a moment, like the air’s been punched out of him. “What?”

“I— I think I’ve kind of known for a while, but seeing Blackwell about to hurt you, seeing him threaten to  _ kill  _ you, I— I realized I can’t go  _ through  _ that. I can’t imagine living without you. I love you, Oliver.”

Oliver pulls back, away from Mark’s shoulder, and stares into Mark’s eyes, dark and shining and earnest and open.

The thing is, Oliver’s known Mark for three years now. He hasn’t always spoken to Mark in-person— their friendship’s been built mostly over phone calls and text conversations and the occasional video chat as Oliver went on his travels and tried to get in all the experiences he’d been missing out on while at the AM. But in the time since Oliver met Mark, he’s learned a lot about how the man operates. He knows when Mark is lying. He knows when Mark is hiding things from him. He knows when not to push and he knows when Mark wants to say more and just needs the nudge. He’s never been good at reading people, but Mark is like an open book to him.

So he knows, looking into Mark’s eyes, that this is the truth.

Mark loves him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

He can feel the doubts beginning to creep back into his mind—  _ but why would he love you, Ritz, all you do is make things worse, you break things, what if you make  _ him  _ worse, drag him down with you—  _ but he keeps looking at Mark’s face, open and raw and vulnerable, and he makes an impulsive decision.

Mark’s lips are warm. It’s a single, short kiss— he pulls back quickly, testing the waters, not wanting to push too fast too soon— but he notices the warmth and it leaves a pleasant tingle behind.

Mark looks surprised for a moment, and then endlessly, blindingly happy as a smile breaks out across his whole face, crinkling his eyes and bubbling up a small laugh as he leans back in for a second kiss and Oliver can  _ feel  _ him smiling into the kiss.

They pull away only after Mark moves to wrap his hands around Oliver’s neck and puts pressure on the head wound. Oliver hisses and pulls back, putting his hand to the spot to soothe it.

“Ah, shit— sorry, sorry.” The smile is half-gone now, replaced by guilt and worry. “I forgot.”

“Yeah, be more careful next time, jeez.” There’s no bite behind the words, though. There’s just a cacophony of  _ he loves you  _ running around Oliver’s head right now. “So… what does this make us?”

Mark leans back against the headboard, considering. “I don’t really know, honestly. I think both of us need a  _ lot _ of help before we should start anything serious, especially you—“

“Hey now—“

“But I wanna be something. Eventually. Someday. With you.”

“...Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Mark leans against Oliver’s shoulder. “Y’know, it’s still only, like, 10am on a Sunday. We could go get those waffles now. Find a nice brunch place.”

Oliver smiles, lets himself lace his fingers through Mark’s.

“Waffles sound good.”

**Author's Note:**

> cw: there is a scene that takes place in a nightmare where Oliver wakes up during a surgical procedure; there is character death, also in that nightmare; when Oliver wakes up he has a panic attack.


End file.
